What could have been
by The First Architect
Summary: Things don't always go according to plan.
1. Sam Hanna

**A\N:** My take on what could have happened during _The Bank Job_. This story is going to be relatively short, with little snippets of each characters point of view.

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS: Los Angeles.**

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**Sam Hanna.**

He had a GSA Class 6 fireproof safe drilled to the floor in his den, hidden under false wooden panels. It was where he kept his most prized possessions. If he could have it his way, he would find some way to protect the people he cared about as well as that safe protected his sacred belongings.

But the world did not work that way.

He could not put someone in a safe. They would run out of air and then probably sue. He could, technically, put someone in a house and tell them that they couldn't leave because someone was out to kill them. But that would be in rather bad taste. Besides, he had fairly unique skills. He was a Navy seal, after all.

He would protect people the way that he had always protected them. With a badge and a gun.

"Okay," he sighed, looking sideways to the woman in the passenger seat, "Time to dial in the Kensi charm."

"Yeah," she said unenthusiastically, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Always me with the charm."

He didn't say anything. There was something—something he did not like—growing in the pit of his stomach. He pushed the feeling away. Because if he had doubts, then fate would find some cruel way to make them a reality. "Jelly bracelets," he noted with a small smile. The multicolored rings hung snugly around her right wrist.

"For good luck," she smiled to herself, giving them a little shake.

There was an uneasy silence that passed between them.

"Okay," he said, nodding his head. She nodded back, locked eyes with him for a split second, and then slid out of the car. He watched her walk towards the Certified National Bank building.

Pressing his ear slightly, he said, "Okay, Eric, Kensi's going in."

"_Alright, Sam. Accessing the bank cameras now."_

She took the steps two at a time, and the foreboding feeling churned in his stomach again. His spine started to tingle when she paused and looked back towards him in the car. She needed confidence. He gave it to her.

Nodding, he flashed a small, comforting grin.

She watched him, licked her lips in a nervous habit he had noticed and walked towards the bank doors. She disappeared into the building. _It's just a job_, he thought to himself. _Just another job. She's in and out. One and done. It'll be fine._

They had a plan. A plan that they had gone over a number of times. It was flawless. But no matter how many times they practiced or rehearsed, nothing compared to the real thing.

In his ideal world, everything would go as planned.

But this was reality, and he would soon be painfully reminded of that fact.


	2. Kensi Blye

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS: Los Angeles.**

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**Kensi Blye.**

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The only thing that annoyed Kensi Blye more than lonely bachelors were desperate, lonely bachelors. Curtis Lacross fit both those standards and so much more.

Screwing on her smile, she nodded to the security guard that greeted her at the front door of the Certified National Bank and made her way towards Curtis' open desk.

The young man looked to her, did a small double take and said with a charming smile, "Good morning."

"Good morning," she greeted in a reply that dripped with sweetness.

"How may I help you?"

"Um, I was interested in leasing a safe deposit box."

"There are some requests in life that are beyond my power," he said in a straight voice and she eyed his curiously. He continued, "Yours happens to be one that I am eminently qualified." He pulled out a piece of paper and stacked it against the marble desk.

"_Eminently_ qualified," she fawned appropriately and laughed, "Okay."

"Uh, it means I'll have to ask you some personal questions." He was cautious. She had gained his curiosity and he was eating out of the palm of her hand.

She looked up from the paper on the countertop in front of her. "Well not too personal I hope." She paused and glanced to his nametag even though she already knew his name, "Curtis."

He gave a laugh and clicked the computer mouse. "Uh, name, address and telephone number."

She bit her tongue and smiled, giving a teasing, "Huh."

He waved a hand, laughing. "It's essential, I promise you." She laughed and he continued. "Just banking regulations these days, you know how it is."

She nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I kn—"

The blast of a Mossberg 590 shotgun sent her heart to her throat.

She turned in an instant, her eyes falling on three ski masked figures entering the bank. Two Mossberg 590 shotguns and a Mark XIX Desert Eagle. The handgun's large-framed barrel was all too familiar. She'd stared down a couple of them in her lifetime.

The man with the Desert Eagle took one look at the security guard and smashed the barrel into the officer's face. Kensi blinked, trying to keep her composer. Even though she knew it was all a hoax, that didn't mean they weren't convincing.

"_Behind the counter, let me see your hands! The rest of you, on the ground. Get on the ground!"_

Kensi gritted her teeth and raised her arms. She knelt down and got on the ground, inching towards the man with the Desert Eagle. The moment he turned his back to her, she kicked out her leg. In one swift motion, he fell to the ground in a heap and she rose, pulling out her 9mm.

"Federal agent!" she yelled. "Drop your weapons!"

Desert Eagle kicked out at her hands. Her gun went flying. He was on his feet, snaking his arm around her throat before she could get her bearings. She panicked for a split second. His hold around her neck cut into her air supply. Resisting the urge to telling him to chill out, she reached back and pulled off his mask, following through with an elbow to his face. _Back off_, she growled in her head.

She had never met this Detective Matt Bernhart (Callen thought it would be more realistic if she hadn't), but she would have a firm talk with him after this. Clearly he needed to be reminded of the line.

She turned as he let her go and grabbed for his nose. He composed himself quickly, brought back a fist and smashed it across her face. She was sent to the linoleum, her world spinning. _Definitely needs reminding of the line_, a voice in her head retorted lazily.

She felt him beside her. Picking up the gun, she heard him pull back the hammer with a world stopping click. "Get up," he said, his voice shaking ever so slightly with anger.

She did as she was told and came face to face with a green eyed man with dark black hair. Raising her hands in surrender, she eyed the gun pointed at her chest.

"Adam," one of the other men shouted. "Adam, don't!" She had a split second to realize that it was not Callen or Renko's voice. A split second to realize that this was not her team.

"Please," she could barley find her voice. Her throat had suddenly closed up on her. "Don't." She should have worn a vest. But they had not been expecting this.

The man smiled a sickening smile. "Surprise," he whispered and pulled the trigger of his Desert Eagle.

The impact of the first bullet far outweighed the ones that followed. More or less, it was just the fact that the mission had gone _wrong_. That after hours of planning, it had still gone _wrong_.

As Kensi's eyes met those of her shooters, and she saw the smile cross his face, her body froze. She blinked, and once her eyes opened again, she was struck with the realization of what was about to happen.

The first bullet slammed into the right of her rib cage, tearing through skin and muscle and sending white hot pain through her system. The second hit close to the first and the third struck her on the left side of her stomach. She couldn't react, couldn't really breath. Her knees gave out on her and she landed hard. Blinking in confusion, she toppled backwards to the tile of the bank floor.

She wasn't feeling, was only slightly aware of the sudden screaming and hysterical crying in the background of the suddenly chaotic bank. She wondered if any of the people cooperating with the mission realized that it had just gone wrong. Terribly wrong.

Suddenly drained, her hands fell limp against her stomach. Her fingers registered that the fabric of her shirt was slick with blood. _Her_ blood. Sticky. Warm. Unreal.

She groaned, hit with the sudden feeling that she was drowning. "Sam," she gasped in pain, "I'm down."


	3. Henrietta 'Hetty' Lang

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS: Los Angeles.**

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**Henrietta 'Hetty' Lange.**

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She had a Medal of Honor. At the award ceremony the President had said that, "In the most deadly of circumstances, nine times out of ten, Henrietta Lange will find a way out."

She'd seen so many deaths and wars in her life that they all seemed to blend together into a blur. Where the world seemed like such an ugly, cold place one moment, and then she'd look into the smiling faces of her team and she'd feel so blessed just because she was there, with them.

She knew the workings of the world. She knew some things were just too far out of her control. And she'd seen some of the worst things a person could see, things one would immediately try to forget about because they were just so horrific.

But the scariest thing Hetty Lange had seen so far was Agent Kensi Blye collapsing to her knees in the middle of that bank, striking red blood flowing from the three bullet wounds in her stomach.

"She's making it look so…" Nate trailed off as he took a small step towards the screen. "Real," he finished in horror.

"That's because it is," Hetty replied quickly, the words numbing her mouth. She turned to Eric sharply, "Where are we?"

"LAPD's on their way," the young tech specialist whispered, his eyes glued to the screen. He swallowed furiously and said, "I'll tell them to bring an ambulance."

"_I'm going in!" _Sam Hanna's voice cracked over the communication unit. Loud. Panicked.

"Be advised Mr. Hanna, that this is not a test. Those men are real."

"_Kensi's down," _he replied, his voice shaking ever so slightly_. "Eric, I'm going around the back."_

"Alright, Sam," Eric blinked, hands freezing over the keyboard. Moments later, he took a shaking breath and continued, "I'm gonna disable the fire alarm and locks so you can get inside the banks emergency exit."

She watched as Sam Hanna paused briefly in front of the bank building, no doubt fighting the urge to bust in and rescue his partner. But she knew he was smarter than that. Turning tail, the big man sprinted down the sidewalk and out of the cameras view.

"We need to do something," Nate said, his words running together as he ran a hand through his hair. "We need to do something. She's going to die." He turned and Hetty saw him collapse in upon himself. He was not an agent. He had never stared death in the face or watched a friend fall under fire. But he did know the inner working of the human mind.

And she knew that, even though he was not street smart in the many ways that her agents were, he knew what was happening. He could read the body language; he could understand that the men in the bank were killers. That they were not playing around. That prison and getting caught did not scare them. They had shot Kensi in full knowledge that she was a Federal Agent. They would certainly shoot anyone else that got in their way.

"Calm down, Nate," she said quietly. Composed.

He stared at her. "Calm down? _Calm down_!" he half yelled. He pointed at the screen, eyes flashing with fire. "She's just been shot, Hetty. That wasn't supposed to happen. How can _you_ be so calm?"

She understood his anger completely, but did not need his meltdown. Not now. Every one of them needed to be on the top of their game, or what they feared might actually come true.

"Because it is my job to be calm, Nate!" she snapped, feeling slightly guilty for letting her feelings slip from beneath her composed mask. Sighing heavily, she turned back towards the screen that showed Kensi on the ground, pressing her hands into her stomach. When Hetty spoke next, her voice was quiet, calm again. "But don't, for one second, think that that means I do not care. That is far from the truth."

So far, Hetty Lange had been lucky enough to find a way out of all of her troubles. But now, it seemed that the tenth time had caught up with her.

Returning her gaze back to the bank footage, she grimaced.

She was not one who showed her fear on her sleeve. But this, this situation shook her. Truly _scared_ her.

"Eric," she could not pry her eyes away from the camera footage to look at her young technical specialist. "Where the hell is _our_ team?"


	4. G Callen

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS: Los Angeles.**

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**G Callen.**

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He did not like darkness.

It brought him back to places like Russia. Serbia. Down town LA.

…"_Mr. Callen!"…_

It reminded him of times before. Of loss and of panic. Of bullets and pain. Of losing Dom and never getting him back. Of his _failures_.

He was a demanding and composed man. Often times pushing his friends and agents to the very best of their limits. But he was also a human being. He had his faults, which he strove to hide furiously. For if the people around him witness a breakdown, then their hope and trust in his would waver just a tiny bit. And though they would still follow his unconditionally, there would always be that little edge of doubt. And as a leader, he could not have that.

But sometimes, even the most composed of agents lose their edge.

… "_Mr. Callen!"…_

His eyes snapped open and he was met with blue skies masked by thick smoke. Slowly, he rolled over, glass falling off his jacket. He looked up and found the wreckage of his once intact van, now engulfed in flames.

… "_Mr. Callen!"…_

He shook his head, trying to get the ringing out of his ears. Or was that Hetty?

…"_Mr. Callen!"…_

"I'm here, Hetty," he rasped. Getting to his feet he surveyed his surroundings and found Renko and Matt Burheart not far from him. He took a step and caught himself as his right knees gave slightly. Grinding his teeth together he steeled his eyes and limped to his fallen comrades.

"_Mr. Callen, where are you?"_

Hetty was not a woman to let her emotions get the best of her, but Callen had been with her long enough to know when something was wrong. And her unease made the hair on his arms stand on end.

"We were ambushed at our hold point," he talked as he rolled Renko over and patted his cheek softly. "Someone put a bomb under our van."

The other man groaned and opened his eyes. Tilting his head up, Renko let out a breath, "Did we just get blown up?" he whispered, rubbing his head.

Callen nodded and stood, ignoring the small group of spectators that their small fire had attracted. Renko rolled over and kicked Berhart, who, with a curse, shot up with wide eyes. Seconds later, he rolled over groaning. "I'm never doing you a favor again, Renko," he said seriously. "Jesus, you OSP agents sure know how to make friends fast."

"Yeah, like this is _my_ fault." Ranko snapped, getting to his feet. He offered his blue eyed friend a hand and helped him up.

Callen, content with the condition of his teammates, turned to the flaming van. Taking everything in, he touched his ear so that he could hear his Operations Manager clearly and asked, "Hetty, what's going on?—"

"_You need to get to the bank as soon as possible. Three hostiles have taken control of the building dressed as your team. Agent Blye is down and Mr. Hanna—"_

Callen turned sharply to Renko and Berheart, their eyes showing that they had heard the woman as well. In seconds, Callen was sprinting towards a parked car. Slamming his elbow into the glass, he popped open the door and bent under the steering wheel. Cutting and crossing wires, the car hummed to life as Renko slid into the passenger seat and Berheart hopped in the back.

Callen threw the car into drive and squealed forward, eyes hard and focused.

He was a man of few things.

Losing his composure was not supposed to be one of them. But damn these men for making him feel like he was still a rookie.

The bomb under their van had been meant to kill them. But thank God for Berheart and his paranoia. Or they would all be dead. But just because they got out does not mean it hadn't done damage. Their heavy weapons were gone, and he only had two spare clips for his 9mm. But so help him, he'd done terrible things with a lot less than that.

He cursed himself for how easy he had made it for whoever had just played them and silently swallowed back the thought of Kensi - of _his_ agent bleeding out in that bank - and focused on getting her out and home. Of getting her to safety. Of just getting her _back_.

"We're going to stop them," Renko said into the tension filled cabin of the car. He had already withdrawn his handgun and was gripping it with white knuckles.

"I know we are," Callen replied, voice hard.

He was a man of few things.

And one of those things was perseverance.

So if he said that he would do something, then consider it done.

His silent promises of _hold on Kensi _and _we're going to stop them_ were going to morph into reality.

Callen was going to make these men pay.

He was going to find them and return the favor they had just tried to give him.

Death.


End file.
